


The Turning of the Seasons

by deleiterious



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Betrayal, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Gen, Heavy Angst, Other, Sibling Rivalry, Siblings, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27519328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deleiterious/pseuds/deleiterious
Summary: They say two heirs survived the fall of Chon'sin's royal house.But Say'ri knows better.xA study of the massacre's aftermath on a young girl's psyche.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10
Collections: Fire Emblem Writer's Zine





	The Turning of the Seasons

Say’ri is born beneath a full moon, in the middle of the coldest winter that Chon’sin has seen in over a hundred years. 

A six-year-old Yen’fay worries that the cold snap will hurt the cherry trees that surround the royal palace, but Mother placates him with a gentle hand to his shoulder. “Little Prince, it is only after a fierce winter that the cherry trees of our country will show you their truest and halest flowers.” Yen’fay nods, though he does not understand yet what that means. Mother smiles at him. “You will see.”

He does. The spring after his sister’s birth, the cherry trees that dot the landscape burst into bloom, each tree so bountiful that their boughs sag heavy with flowers. Like people with garments too burdensome to wear, the trees shake their blossoms to the ground. Every street is carpeted in bright pink, the scent of them perfuming the air. Yen’fay has never seen anything so beautiful.

The nobles that travel from the furthest reaches of the country to meet the new princess are effusive in their praise. Auspicious birth, they say. A strong face, say others. Yen’fay does not understand what they mean, but soon he begins to consider that maybe Sister is the one responsible for such a gorgeous spring. After all, the lords and ladies cooing at her seem to think so. 

Yen’fay plucks a freshly fallen flower off the ground and hurries back to baby Sister and Mother. He leans down and spins it by the stem in front her dark eyes, which latch onto the bud with rapt attention. “Say’ri, can you turn this flower blue?” he asks. Say’ri releases a wet giggle, a bubble popping off her lips.

Mother’s eyes, the same color as his, crinkle in amusement. “Are you asking your sister to perform magic?”

Yen’fay looks up, startled. “I thought she could. Isn’t all this because of her?” He gestures widely to the blanket of flowers in the courtyard.

Mother cocks her head to the side, eyes twinkling. “Your sister is very special, Yen’fay, but she cannot perform a miracle.”

Yen’fay drops the flower into his mother’s lap. “Then why is she special? What can she do?”

“She is like our cherry tree.” Mother picks up the flower, and the wind carries it off over the wall. 

“She can endure the harshest winter, and she will bloom when she is most needed.”

* * *

Say’ri awakens to the smell of smoke and a blistering sense of heat. Eyes flaring open, she tosses aside the silken covers and stumbles out of her bed. Her room is undisturbed, but an eerie orange glow permeates her paper-screen windows. Say'ri rushes to them, throwing them open. On the horizon, just beyond the palace walls, a fiery blaze paints the night sky in terrifying strokes. She presses the sleeve of her robe to her face as ash rains down on her cheeks. Say'ri retreats from her bedchamber, calling for guards that should be posted at her doors but are now nowhere to be seen.

Yen’fay, she thinks, he will know what to do. 

She rushes to the adjoining wing, but only the sight of an empty chamber greets her when she arrives. A chill goes through her spine. “Brother?” she cries. “Brother, where are you?” 

Panicked, Say’ri turns and looks for anyone to tell her what is going on. The grounds are eerily devoid of attendants. Beyond the residential compound, the sounds of battle make it to her ears. Say'ri's blood freezes in her veins. They are being invaded.

Say'ri breaks into a sprint toward the royal armory. Something in the corner of her eye catches her attention, but before she can process what it is she is seeing, she trips and crashes face-first into the packed earth. Her dark hair splashes over her face like ink on paper. She swipes it impatiently to the side, ignoring the fresh tracks of blood on her knees as she gets to her feet. 

When her eyes land on the object she tripped over, Say’ri releases a scream of horror.

The object is a person: a dead soldier crumpled to the ground. She claps her free hand to her mouth, shaking. The knife wounds are merciless and many, some of them applied even after death. Say’ri is no stranger to battle; she has trained with the mightiest of Chon’sin’s warriors and bested many of them in an honorable sword fight. But this—this is slaughter: simple, unrestrained  _ slaughter _ . 

Say’ri steps back from the body, and her heel knocks into something else. She vomits when she realizes it is another corpse.

* * *

Armed with twin swords, Say’ri finally locates her father's contingent of soldiers at the heart of the palace. Many of their bodies are strewn across the steps that lead up to the main throne room. What remains of Father's distinguished fighting force, the ones left standing, look to her like ghosts. The stench of death coats their armor like a hot lacquer. She does not spy her family among them.

In the chaos, no one recognizes her. Coated in ash, her wild hair unbound and trailing at her knees, she must look more wraith than princess now. Suddenly, an anguished cry from inside the throne room splits the air, silencing the blades that sing in Chon’sin’s name. It is the cry of the Queen Mother. Say’ri’s mother.

In the space of a breath, Say'ri races up the stairs, weaving through enemy and ally alike. A few soldiers block her path at the top of the stairs, and she shoves them aside with strength she scarcely believes she has. View unimpeded, her gaze searches desperately for Mother before it catches on something sitting on Father's throne. 

Say'ri's blades shriek out of their sheathes, and she points at the demon dressed in red sitting where Father should be. "Get out of there, monster," she hisses, her blood boiling with rage.

The demon tilts her head at her, pupiless eyes set in a gruesome face. She realizes that it is a man, dressed in crimson armor. She shakes with bottomless fury, and repeats herself. He effortlessly lifts an axe larger than she is, but a voice rings out in the silence that stays them both.

"Please, Say'ri, stand down." It is Yen'fay's voice. His proud form is bowed in defeat, twin swords bloodied and at rest beside his white-knuckled fists. Say'ri feels a flood of relief to see him alive, but it is extinguished immediately by the look of terror in his eyes. If he can no longer fight, then she will in his stead.

She tears her gaze away from Yen'fay to focus on the enemy. "You'll die for what you've done, monster." 

"Say'ri!" Yen'fay's outburst stills her first swing. "Do not raise a sword to our King."

Say'ri feels as if the floor has dropped from beneath her feet. She sways, clenching tightly to the hilt of her swords to ground herself. Yen'fay must be deluded, she thinks. For if this  _ demon _ were to be King, she hardly dares to contemplate, it must mean...that Mother and Father…

Realization engulfs her in a cold, mind-numbing grief. But the nightmare does not end.

Yen’fay bends his head in a gesture of deference toward the demon king. It is only after a brief nod that Yen’fay rises gingerly to his feet, favoring his left leg. 

Say’ri finds her voice, but it is thick with the sting of betrayal. "You...you _ traitor _ !" The words pour out of her, desperate and unrestrained. "This is treason! This monster is not our king!" She feels hot tears carving tracks into her dirty cheeks.

Yen’fay does not meet her gaze. His eyes stare someplace beyond her, empty of anything she recognizes. "Silence, Say’ri, or I as your brother will silence you myself."

Say'ri recoils as if slapped. There is a suffocating silence; she dares him to say it to her again. Then, a dark look crosses her face. She allows her swords to clatter to the floor, lips curling in contempt. "You are no brother to me."

* * *

Say'ri peers up at the revolting banners flapping in the wind before she pulls the hood down over her face. Walhart's influence is everywhere in Chon'sin these days. 

She fists her hands at her sides. Yen'fay, a spineless and honorless puppet ruler, has allowed the traditions and history of Chon'sin to rot from the inside out over the years. Unforgivable coward that he is, Yen'fay has done nothing to protect their people from the conscription command sent down by Walhart. Hundreds of her brethren have died in a meaningless war, used as no more than fodder for a demon king's bloodthirst.

Say'ri reaches the royal mausoleum of her ancestors, shaking the poisonous thoughts from her head. She is here to say goodbye, not to saddle them with her anger and sadness. The cherry trees surrounding the tomb are bare, branches eerie and thin in the bright moonlight. Say'ri lowers her hood as she reaches the burial site of her parents. She sinks to the ground, lips trembling.

"Mother," she says, "Father, how I miss you." Tears swell out of her eyes and she swipes at them defiantly. They will not see her weak. There is much she wishes to say, but very little of it is good, so she refrains. She manages a weak smile. "Please watch over me, Mother, Father. I have a long journey ahead, but I will return to you. My heart will always be with Chon'sin." She bows low, pressing her forehead to the cool stone. 

She misses her family, but she is done waiting for someone to save them.

She pulls the hood over her face, lips set in a firm line. Not even Yen'fay's threats could stop her now.

* * *

Volcanic ash drifts through the sweltering air and settles onto Say'ri's short, dark lashes as they near Demon's Ingle. In her youth, she would have counseled Chrom and Robin against approaching such a dangerous and blighted place. The people of her country have always been wary of angering the already volatile fire god in the volcano's depths. Years of fighting Walhart's influence outside of Chon'sin's borders have chiseled that childlike caution out of her. They survive by whatever means necessary, god or no god. 

Chrom's forces swell behind her, eager for the possible protection the volcano can provide. She wonders, as the more traditional of the two, if Yen'fay will dare to broach Demon's Ingle in pursuit of them.

Say'ri climbs the parched earth quickly, urging the soldiers around her to hurry. As she wipes the sweat from her brow, a scream erupts into the air behind them. A volley of arrows rains down against the tail-end of their fleet. Shields lift into the air, but a few of the soldiers stumble and fall, injured or slain. Say'ri grits her teeth and catches Chrom's solemn gaze across the heads of their allies. 

Yen'fay has followed them into Demon's Ingle.

Say'ri motions for them to take the upper plain. They can fight Yen'fay's forces at an advantage using the incline and natural grooves in the earth. The soldiers march on as the archers ready themselves to return fire, buying time for the foot-soldiers to secure the region. Overlooking the mouth of Demon's Ingle, Say'ri spots Yen'fay surrounded by his own contingent of high-ranking Chon'sin generals, flying the flag of Walhart's army. The sight of it churns her stomach.

The enemy soldiers begin to flood the battlefield, their roars heard over the clash and clang of metal. Say'ri nods in understanding at Robin's signal, and slips into the fray, holding back the forces that have begun to put pressure on the eastern flank. She cuts down dozens of soldiers in moments, her twin swords cleaving through the gaps in their armor. The ground becomes riddled with fresh bodies, her blades coated in their blood. 

Say'ri mind goes quiet, numb, and focused as she creates a path through the enemy forces directly to the generals commanding them. Allies lean into the opening she provides, forcing their opponents to break into smaller and smaller factions that they can easily overwhelm.

Say'ri cuts one of the generals down from their horse. There is a brief flicker of recognition as she plunges one of her swords through their chest.

"Princess..." they gasp through the sound of blood pooling in their mouth. Say'ri's eyes harden against the old title and she turns away. "Forgive me, Princess..." 

Forgiveness is a concept she can hardly imagine now. Without blinking, she lashes out with her left hand, and one of Yen'fay loyal lapdogs ends themself on her blade. She pulls the blade out with nothing more than a blink, and wonders if she can hold her own against Yen'fay now.

She supposes it foolish to waste more time on the thought. Regardless of what she thinks, one of them will die on this battlefield. Say'ri swears the soul of her country on it.

The next general recognizes her instantly and tries to flee on foot. His soldiers maneuver into defensive positions around him, but it does not delay her for long.

"Face me, coward!" she screams.

He stumbles against the dead-end of a cliff, and then reluctantly turns to face her. "Princess," he says, not raising his sword against her.

"You have chosen to fight this day," she says, baring her teeth in anger. "Why dishonor yourself by fleeing? Fight me, warrior of Chon'sin."

His gaze flickers to the ground, as if torn. "As you wish, Princess." He raises his sword, his mouth set in a grim line but his eyes filled with doubt.

She hates that name. It reminds her too much of her family, her people, of the country she left behind to save. It reminds her that he is born from the earth of Chon'sin, that he deserves to die in its sacred soil. It reminds her of everything Walhart and Yen'fay have done.

She comes at him without mercy, her blades swinging so fast they whistle through the air, fueled by rage and sorrow. Within moments, she has knocked one of his blades out of his hand. It spins and disappears behind them in the chaos. She does not hesitate at the opening, bringing down her sword against his neck and he falls into the scorched dirt. A voice in the back of her mind wonders if he held back from some misplaced sense of loyalty, but she shakes the thought from her head and presses onward.

Toward Yen'fay.

Toward heartbreak.

When she reaches him, the ground he stands on is wreathed in the dead bodies of her allies. The familiar shine of their armor gleams on the ground; their faces bathed in blood. "Yen'fay," she calls to him.

In one fluid motion, he turns to face her. His face, one she used to love so much, is just as she remembers it: the shock of white hair, the eyes so much like Mother's. It pains her to see him here, dressed in Chon'sin battle regalia with the exception of a horned faceguard that bears a resemblance to the one Walhart wears. The item itself is enough to send a fresh river of hatred into her veins.

"You will go no further, Yen'fay." She tastes bile on her tongue. "This is where your despicable life ends."

The words lay between them, thick and acrid like a smog. She remembers the poison of his betrayal like it was only yesterday: how he watched their parents die, how he let a monster take their place, bending to it like a whimpering dog. How he left her so, _ so _ alone.

"Do not challenge me, Say'ri," he says softly, with the smallest taste of warning on his tongue.

She tightens her grip on the blades. "Is this what you wanted, Yen'fay? Power? Though it cost you our parents, our country?"

A flicker of emotion passes through his eyes, but it is indecipherable. His chin tilts up in answer. "We both know you are no match for me. Stand down now, or be crushed."

Say'ri' remembers a young princess covered in ash, silencing herself before a demon king at the command of a traitorous brother. "You will have to kill me before I stand down again."

"So be it," he says gravely, briefly closing his eyes as if from an internal ache. He calmly lifts his blades, his neutral stance unchanged. 

There is a sense of detachment and indifference from him as they cross swords. Say'ri presses on, fighting this facade of a brother as much as the past itself. She fights to glean some emotion, some regret--anything--from that face.

What a blessing it would be for all this swept away and forgiven, she thinks, but the time for that has long passed.

Say'ri has the advantage of speed and creativity, having developed them in the lands outside of her homeland. She cleaves the point of her sword through the ground, sending up a rain of dust and debris.

Yen'fay blinks back the dust, and she releases a series of blows designed to confuse. He takes a step back, his stance suddenly defensive. Yen'fay fights like a fortress made flesh. Though she is able to keep him from retaliating, she cannot break him. He strikes out in a familiar pattern, but she dances out of range. Her foot crashes down against his ankle, and he staggers for purchase. He grits his teeth, a furrow in his brow.

Say'ri ponders, for a moment, whether he may be holding back when he suddenly launches an attack the likes of which she can barely parry. There are a few near-misses; she can hear the hiss of his blades against her ears, the scrape of them against her lacquered armor. The barrage feels endless, and Say'ri draws on a well of willpower to remain standing. The splash of dead bodies around them is but a small testament to Yen'fay's true power.

Spying an opening, Say'ri slices at the armguard on Yen'fay's arm. It falls away, and his grip loosens for a brief moment as he adjusts to the new weight. Say'ri takes a deep breath and lunges forward. Her right-hand sword slashes him deep in the right shoulder. She pulls back immediately, before his other sword can cut her open.

A dark red stain appears on his regalia, but he seems to barely register the wound. She leaves him no time to recover, hastening to close the gap. He uses his good arm to keep her at bay, but she is fast, faster than he will ever be. She ducks beneath his guard. Yen'fay spins away to avoid her, but opens himself in the process. Say'ri barely thinks when she stabs him in the stomach. 

She twists the blade.

Yen'fay cries out, yanking himself off her blade as cleanly as he can. The effort of the gesture is useless. They both know a wound of that size is fatal.

Say'ri stares at her deadly work, her mind gone completely numb. Her fingers twitch. It feels like her fingers must be covered in his blood.

Like a monolith crumbling, Yen'fay falls to his knees. A dark stain blooms across his abdomen, like a cursed flower.

Say'ri stands there, a buzzing in her ears and a tremble in her hands. "Why..."

Yen'fay bows his head in defeat. His hands do nothing to stem the bleeding. "You have grown strong, Sister."

It is this title, not  _ Princess _ that makes her angriest of all. "How dare you..." she begins, tears pricking at her eyes.

Yen'fay looks up to meet her gaze, and his eyes are filled with pride. They are filled with everything: fear, regret, sorrow, relief and love. Emotions in him she thought long dead.

Say'ri's tears begin to fall freely; she feels like a traitor to herself for feeling anything.

Yen'fay's face cracks into an ancient smile, his lips pale as snow. "Now I can die...in peace."

Yen'fay slumps forward, but Say'ri catches him in her arms. She can barely see beyond the tears. She is angry; so angry that he let her do this, so angry that he never stopped her from leaving, angry that now he will truly leave her. And she is terrified of being truly alone. 

"You let me kill you," she rasps, her throat tight with emotion.

Yen'fay's eyes rove over her face. He beams at her, like the sibling he used to be. "I understand, Mother," he says, closing his eyes. "Say'ri is like our cherry tree."

Say'ri clings desperately to him. His warm blood seeps into her clothes, drenching them a brilliant crimson. 

"Yen'fay, please don't go," she whispers, leaning her forehead against his. "Please, Brother. Let us not fight anymore."

There is no response.

She holds him in her arms, long after his body has gone cold and still.

* * *

In a courtyard somewhere in Chon'sin, a cherry tree begins to bloom.

Winter makes way for spring.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so pleased to finally be able to share my first-ever zine contribution. I wrote for Fire Emblem: Writer's Zine, about a sibling bond that simply breaks my heart. My partner artist drew an amazing piece that pairs with this fic, which can be found here: https://twitter.com/whiskeyrrose/status/1326807975286157312. Their Twitter handle is @whiskeyrrose. As always, comments are appreciated and incredibly motivational.


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